El Jesús de la Montaña
by mamapranayama
Summary: Up in the mountain there is a man who lives the life of legend, a man no one knows - a man who has been alone for a very, very long time. AU, H/C, angst, character death sort of Big spoilers for 7x23 "Survival of the Fittest" Now with a bonus chapter included.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Big thanks to **ephemerall **who was my beta for this thing and made it resemble something close to English - you're the best, Hon!

Also, this story was mostly inspired by all of the recent pics of Jared Padalecki with his epic, glorious hair and hiatus beard that have been all over the place - I couldn't help but draw some parallels between him and a certain iconic, religious figure (in appearance only, of course). Plus, if you've seen Dr. Who, then you'll probably see some of it in this story as I mess around with time a little and channel the whole Rory waiting around for 2000 years for Amy Pond story arc.

**El Jes****ús de la Monta****ña**

Some say he was born on the mountain. Others say that he came sometime in the 20's and took over that little cabin at the top of the pass to seek solace from the world, that some tragedy had left him so broken that he kept as little contact with outside people as possible.

Some said that he talked to wolves and tamed bears, that he walked barefoot through the forest and lived solely on raw squirrel, while others claimed to know the real truth – that he was the abandoned child of an unfortunate woman raped by a sasquatch and raised by coyotes. Despite all of the outrageous and speculative stories that floated around about him, there was one thing everyone agreed was true: he was a living mystery and no one could say that they actually knew the man.

All were too afraid to approach him – not that he had ever threatened anyone with his actions and certainly not with his words – no, it was his eyes that drove people away – eyes filled with pain, anger, grief, eyes that spoke of a violent past and his need to be alone. One look from those eyes and people kept their distance.

No one knew what his real given name was either, but the migrant workers that came up from Mexico during harvest time called him El Gigante Jesús de la Montaña – not because they believed he was any kind of religious figure, but because he was young man, perhaps in his thirties with dark, wavy, shoulder length hair and bearded face that was unmistakably similar to that of the icons that adorned churches across the world. He was a big man as well – broad in the shoulders and a solid wall of muscle. Reports of his actual height varied among the locals – some said he was just taller than average while other said he was at least seven feet.

He was rarely seen and a sighting of him in town would only stir up more stories for the ladies who were part of the quilting circle at the church to gossip on for days, after all, El Jesus may have been a mystery, but he was a mighty fine looking man according to nearly every member of the female gender that had seen him.

Once every month or so he might come into town in his ancient, black automobile and purchase supplies, but he would never say more than two words to Mr. Higgins, the owner of the local general store. But Higgins would talk – he understood why the man might need so much ammunition if he was hunting game to survive on, but he was always left wondering why a man living alone up in the mountains would need so much salt that he practically bought out the store's entire supply with each trip. However, being too intimidated by the imposing man, the old store owner never asked and El Jesús what he needed the supplies for and in return the man never said anything more than 'thank-you' before he left.

He lived alone, far up the mountain, away from anyone and everyone. In order to access his cabin one had to drive up a steep incline until reaching a poorly marked trailhead and from there, make a trek of about two miles through the rocky hills of the forest.

Not a soul in town could actually say that they had ever been his cabin on a social call. However, there were a few fool-hardy teens and kids that dared each other to visit the cabin and most actually survived without a scratch - this is, until the day Andy Norton went missing.

At sixteen years old, Andy was a kid of average intelligence and like most teens was easily pressured into doing stupid things in order to fit in. After being triple-dog dared into going out to the cabin alone and unable to say 'no' to his friends, he ventured out into the wilderness while his friends stayed at their campsite, snickering and betting on whether or not he would pee his pants when he ran back to the camp in terror.

But he never came back to the camp.

It was two days later that Andy appeared at Doc Sorensen's porch, a little bloody and bruised, but alive and with a yarn to spin that left people talking for months.

It was El Jesús, he said, who had saved him. From there, his story became rather unbelievable to most folks as he explained how he had been teased into going to the lonely cabin in the woods, but before he even got there something sprang on him and snatched him away with inhuman speed. He claimed to wake up in a cave far up in the mountain with his wrists bound and strung up from the ceiling. Even more preposterously, he had said that some kind of creature had taken him.

He could never describe the beast that had taken him in detail other than to say that it looked like a monstrously deformed man with claws as long as its hands, that it smelled like death itself, and had been sniffing at him hungrily like it was considering which part of him to eat first.

Just as the creature had opened its mouth as if to take a bite from Andy's flesh, there came a shout from the cave entrance followed by a loud blast and a blinding light that filled the darkness. Andy wasn't sure what kind of weapon had been fired, but he watched in horror as the monster burst into flames from the inside out with an ear-piercing wail.

Big hands grabbed him after that and cut him down from the ceiling before he was carried bodily from the cave over large shoulders. It wasn't until he was in the light outside of the cave that Andy realized that his rescuer was none other than the legendary El Jesus.

"I'm sorry. If I had known there was a wendigo in these woods I would have killed it a lot sooner." Andy claimed the mountain man had said just before he passed out from shock.

When he woke up again, Andy was covered in blankets and sitting on Doc Sorensen's porch swing with the majority of his cuts and scrapes already bandaged.

While Andy maintained that his plight was true for many years, no one except for the young and impressionable actually believed him. People explained it away as another wild story about El Jesús and put it out of their minds.

There were more stories people passed around about El Jesus through the years as well; there was Annette Jenkins, who swore up and down to anyone who would listen that he dead husband's ghost had been trying to sneak into bed with her for years until the night she thought she saw El Jesus sneaking away from her property near where she had laid her dearly departed Ned to rest. She claimed that she never saw her husband's ghost again after that.

And then there was Olivia Spencer, a young college student visiting her family in town who went for a hike in the trails on a clear, full-moon night. She wasn't far from the trail head when she saw a wolf staring her down from a clearing and licking its chops. Suddenly she heard the loud report of a gunshot and the beast went down. She ran for her life in the opposite direction, but after throwing a glance behind her, she said that she saw a tall, long-haired man bending over the body. But the truly bizarre point of her story came was that the body he was checking was no longer a fur-covered animal, but that of a fully naked man.

The sensible that lived near the mountain took all of these stories with a grain of salt and considered them to be the workings of over-active imaginations. The tales were entertaining for sure and good for telling around campfires or at a children's slumber party, but they were never actually considered to be anything close to the truth.

After some time, the El Jesus stories began to fizzle into the background, El Jesus himself was spotted less and less often and people found other gossip to occupy their tongues. They mostly forgot about Andy's and the others' stories and went about their daily lives.

Many years passed.

However, poor Andy Norton never did quite manage to put his experience behind him. He wanted to forget it and he even tried to convince himself that what he saw and what had happened to him had all been a figment of his imagination – that perhaps had fallen down a hill and hit his head while in the forest that fateful night and it had just been a scary dream brought on by the trauma.

Andy grew up, graduated high school, worked for a package delivery company, married, had three kids, retired, then went back to work for the delivery company when his pension failed to provide for his wife's spending habits. Basically, he led a rather uneventful and ordinary life – which was just fine with him – he liked his boring, predictable life.

It was on a Tuesday morning and in the middle of his regular route when things changed for Andy and his past with El Jesús would finally catch up with him.

He was minding his own business, and had just dropped the parcel beside Mrs. McHale's door when he turned around and saw two men suddenly appear out of thin air.

Each looked almost as stunned as Andy to see where they had materialized, but neither noticed his presence as he stood frozen and immobile at the top of the porch steps, wondering if what he was seeing was the early onset of a stroke.

Both men looked as if they had been plucked straight out of the past – the dark-haired one wore what looked like old-time hospital scrubs and a dated, tan trenchcoat while the other had on blue jeans and a leather jacket.

_Seriously?_ Who the hell wore blue jeans and leather anymore?

"Awww – Dammit, Cas! Give a guy a little warning before beaming him from one place to another, will ya?" The tall, light-haired man griped to the dark-haired man he had just called 'Cas'.

The guy in the raincoat turned to the other man, "Actually, Dean … I didn't bring us here. I have no idea how we got here."

"I thought you were figuring out a way to spring us from that death-trap before we both got turned into a monster's chew toy – isn't that why you took off like that and left me all alone to fend those freaks off by myself? You telling me that wasn't you?"

"I believe I just explained that to you." The man replied simply just before his attention was drawn to the little flower bed Mrs. McHale had planted along the sidewalk and he smiled serenely, "Oh look … daffodils. I love daffodils – bees love daffodils as well. Perhaps that is why I like bees so much – or maybe that's why I love daffodils …"

The short-haired man – the one the guy in the trenchcoat called 'Dean' threw up his hands with a growl of frustration at his friend's obvious insanity.

"No time to stop and smell the roses, Cas – "

"But these aren't roses … they're daffodils."

"I don't care if it's fuckin' Audrey 2," Dean growled, "we need to find out where the hell we are and where hell Sam is."

'Dean' reached into his pocket and pulled out a small device and flipped it open. It took a moment for Andy to recognize just what it was and he almost had to do a double take. It was a cell phone – a freaking flip phone none the less – he hadn't seen one of those in years.

"C'mon … dammit." He grumbled, flipping the phone closed and shoving it back into his pocket, "S'not working."

_Well, duh._ Andy thought to himself – no one used those things anymore, not since the iPhone 16 implant came out.

Andy's feet finally unglued themselves from his spot on the porch and he attempted to take a step forward. He had meant to make a break for it and hurry to his delivery van and get as far away from those strange men, their creepy old man clothes, and their weird, unexplainable appearance as possible. And when he got to his van he would drive off and never tell anyone about this newest experience with things that couldn't be reasonably explained ; he knew firsthand how people treated others when they thought they were being lied to – how hurtful it was to have people look at him like he was crazy.

No … he would never breathe a word of this to _anyone_.

That was Andy's plan at least – his execution of the plan, however, didn't quite pan out the way he had hoped. Instead, he tripped, one foot failing to move fast enough to get out of the way of the other and he nearly tumbled his way down the stairs.

The commotion he caused made the two weirdoes shift their attention directly towards Andy and approach him.

"Hey! You!" The man named 'Dean' called out.

Andy pointed to himself, "Me?"

"Yeah … Who else?"

"Uh … what can I—"

"Well, for starters how about you tell us where we are?"

"We are in Divide, Colorado." The man in the trench coat answered succinctly and with an almost smug look on his face.

Dean turned, incredulously sneering at the man beside him, "Think you could have mentioned that sooner, Cas?"

"You didn't ask."

Dean sighed, raising his eyes to the sky, "Okay … so, we're in Colorado, but where's Sam? We've been gone for almost a day and he's probably worried himself into an ulcer by now. If he's still okay that, is." Dean added, with a visible gulp. Worry splayed across his features, but was eased a moment later when Cas spoke again.

"He is alive, Dean and I can feel him nearby. He is up that mountain pass," Cas pointed towards the mountain, "near a structure about two miles into the forest."

Dean seemed to deflate in relief, "Good … then zap us to him."

"I can't. There are wards up there that prevent me from 'zapping' us to your brother," Cas replied using his fingers for air quotes, "This is as close as I can get."

Throughout the verbal exchange, Andy stood between the two men awkwardly, growing ever more wary of them. The only person he knew of that lived up that way was El Jesús and if this 'Sam' guy had gone up there, then he was probably in a world of trouble – nothing good ever happened up in that forest and he should know – he had first-hand experience.

The only explanation he could give himself as to why their buddy Sam was up by that cabin was that he had somehow gotten himself lost – it was that or all three of them were some kind of escapees from a mental asylum and given the nonsense they spoke to each other, the latter made the most sense.

Andy just hoped they weren't serial killers.

_I should get out of here …_ _call the cops …_ He thought to himself, but something close to curiosity kept him from bolting. Plus, he really didn't want to piss these two off - Dean guy looked like the kind of man that could kick Andy's ass easily and he was just too old for that kind of crap anymore and Cas, while strangely calm, gave off a kind of vibe that latent power that frankly scared Andy.

Andy had to suppress his anxiety as Dean turned to him again, "You got a car?"

"Uh …" Andy unconsciously slid his eyes towards the delivery van, too late to stop himself. The younger man turned his head and looked to the van as well, then suddenly shot his head back around towards Andy.

"What the hell is that thing?" He asked, whipping his head to look again at the silver vehicle, its solar panels shining brightly in the sun.

"Um … my van?"

"Looks like the freakin' disco ball from Studio 54," Dean snorted derisively then shook his head, "Whatever … can you give me a lift?"

"Look … I got work to do and I can't … it's a company van – " Andy tried to explain, suddenly fearful about going anywhere with these two guys, but Dean was already marching ahead towards the vehicle and pulling Andy along none to gently by the elbow.

Throwing a look over his shoulder, Dean called out to the other man, "Stay here, Cas. I'm gonna get to Sam and take care of those wards. I'll call you when I get there."

Cas called after their retreating backs, "There's something else I think I should have told you when we first arrived, Dean –"

"Not now – just stay put for once, will ya?" Dean yelled back just before he hopped into the cab of the van.

"Where're the keys?" the younger man asked, sliding behind the wheel.

"Keys?" Andy asked, confused, "It doesn't have keys – it's set to my finger prints, I'm the only one authorized to drive it."

Dean gave Andy a blank stare, "oookay … fine. You drive," then almost as an afterthought he added, lifting up his hands, "please. I promise I'm not gonna hurt you, I just need to find my brother and he's up there somewhere."

The unease in Andy's stomach didn't let up and only got worse as Dean pointed in the direction of the mountain pass that lead straight to the cabin of the legendary El Jesús. It was stupid, really. He was a grown man well into his fifties and what happened to him in that cave in the woods had been years ago – he shouldn't still be afraid of going up there.

However, Dean appeared sincerely worried over his brother and Andy found himself giving in, unable to say 'no' and as the kid slid over to the passenger side, Andy climbed in and started the drive towards the mountain against his better judgment.

Dean seemed to be fascinated by the interior of the van and kept looking about him like he was in some kind of space ship, "Dude … this is one seriously weird ride," he quipped, poking at some of the buttons on the dashboard, "What does this thing do?" he asked as if he had never seen a music projector before.

The van was suddenly filled with Andy's dance club playlist that he liked to listen to as he drove from one delivery to the next – his kids hated his 'lame, old music' as they called it, but it reminded him of his youth and filled him with nostalgia of the good old days when he still had a body fit for the clubs.

Dean covered his ears, clearly not a fan of the retro beats either, "God! What the hell is that noise?"

"Music." Andy replied, annoyed at the younger man for messing with his tunes.

"That's not music, Dude – that's an assault on the ears." He tapped the projector and the music cut itself off.

Andy shook his head … young people these days just had no appreciation for the classics.

The further up the mountain Andy drove, the less he began to fear that this Dean character might hurt him. Outwardly, he made himself appear fierce and macho, but underneath that, Andy could almost feel the tension and worry rolling off the younger man in waves.

He decided that it was worth the risk to ask the one question that burned inside of him. Hell … if he was going to drive this kid up the mountain to visit a place he vowed to never return to, then he wanted to know more.

"Um … if you don't mind me asking … but … where did you come from? I could have sworn that you and that other guy just kinda popped outta nowhere."

"Trust me … you don't want to know, " Dean insisted firmly, "It's better that you just take me to that cabin then take off and forget I ever existed, okay?"

That really wasn't the answer Andy wanted to hear, but he never got the chance to ask another question as a cloud of billowing, grey smoke greeted the van as it reached the top of the inclined road.

Smoke coming out of the dry woods at this time of year, usually only meant one thing: forest fire – and Dean's brother was possibly out there in the middle of it.

Andy stomped on the brakes only a few feet away from the trail and Dean barely waited for the van to stop before jumping out.

"The Hell?" Dean did little to hide the anxiety in his voice, making a run for the trail, "Stay here!" He yelled to Andy just before he disappeared into the smoke.

He wasn't sure why he stayed and did as the younger man demanded. Logic should have told him to gun the engine and shag ass back to town, but something held him back. Maybe it was the panicked look in Dean's face as he ran into the burning forest or the fact that he could hear the other man's voice distantly calling for his brother, but either way, he couldn't leave – not until the boy was back again.

Andy waited nervously, keeping his eyes fixed on the trail for almost half an hour until finally, a figure emerged from the dark smoke, covered in ash and soot and carrying a man over his shoulder.

It didn't take long for Andy to recognize the man Dean carried as none other than El Jesus himself, bleeding from blackened skin charred by the fire. The only part of the old man that had been spared the flames appeared to be his hair and beard - both were just as long and wavy as he remembered it, but white with age now and dirtied by the soot.

Andy hurried to the back of the van and opened the rear hatch so there would be room for the injured, elderly man to lie down before Andy could call for the paramedics and the fire department, and why he didn't think of calling them sooner, he chalked up to adrenaline.

Dean came round to the back of the vehicle, joining Andy before he carefully laid the old man down. He turned, evidently thinking of running out back into the burning forest for his brother, but was suddenly stopped when a blackened and bloody hand reached up and grabbed his wrist.

"D –Dean …" El Jesus uttered with his eyes still tightly closed, pain making his voice hoarse and barely more than a whisper.

Dean stepped in closer, "You know me? Do you know Sam?"

The old man nodded.

"Where is he?" Dean demanded, "Where is my little brother?"

El Jesus struggled, but managed to open his eyes, fixing his hazel irises on Dean's face. Despite the pain he was in, he cracked a smile of pure joy, "Right here … j- jerk."

Dean gulped and stepped back, color draining rapidly from his face as his eyes roamed up and down the man lying in the back of the van. He shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, "No … "

"S'me … it worked …" tears glistened in the old man's eyes as they remained fixed on Dean, "Wasn't sure I'd see you again. You okay?"

Recognition, confusion and horror all struck Dean's features all at once. He reached out and cupped both of his hands on the bearded face below him, "Sammy?"

El Jesus … no …_ Sam_, smiled and nodded, "I waited a long time for you to call me that again – it was worth it."

Andy thought he probably looked just as confused as Dean. Sam had to be pushing 80, yet Dean was the older brother?

"But … how? We weren't gone that long … what happened?"

"49 years happened … "

Dean shook his head as he struggled to reign in his emotions and failed, "I don't understand – how?"

"Time moves differently in purgatory, Dean." Andy jumped back as Cas, Dean's trench coat wearing companion from earlier suddenly appeared by their sides, "That's what I tried to tell you before you drove off. I'm sorry, I probably should have mentioned that first."

"Ya think? Dean spat back, "How'd you get here anyway? I thought the wards around here were keeping you out."

Cas pointed to the fire, "While I am sad to see all of these lovely trees burning, the fire burned all of the wards Sam carved into the them away."

Dean accepted that explanation without comment then pointed to Sam, "Can you fix him?"

Cas sadly shook his head, "I can ease his pain and heal his external injuries, but his body is too damaged and already weakened by age … I'm afraid his heart will not last much longer."

"Do whatever you can." Dean insisted.

Cas moved in closer and leaned over the burned man and ailing man, "Hello, Sam."

"Cas –" Sam breathed, struggling to pull air into his smoke-filled lungs "good to see you again."

With his hand, Can touched Sam's forehead and Andy watched in stunned amazement as the old man gasped then began to glow with bright light and as it faded so did the burns and blood. When it was all over and Cas lifted his hand away and the only reminder that Sam had ever been in a fire was his ripped and charred clothing.

Sam's face eased, free of pain, but he was still too weak to do much more than make a feeble attempt at sitting up. Dean immediately reached down and wrapped an arm around his aged brother, helping him. As soon as he was upright, Sam wrapped his thin, long and wrinkled arms around Dean tightly, closing his eyes with a heavy, relieved sigh.

Dean hugged back gently as though he was afraid he might break his fragile brother, "I still don't believe this." Dean uttered into Sam's hair.

"It's a long, long story." Sam replied as he released Dean.

Dean kept his hands on Sam's shoulders, keeping him at arm's length as he continued to look him up and down, "How about I get the abridged version then."

Sam nodded tiredly, "You and Cas … after you killed Dick you both just … disappeared. Crowley came and finished off the Leviathans, but he took Kevin and wouldn't tell me where you guys had gone. I had to summon him and trap him later in order to get him to finally tell me where you were and after he admitted that you were both in purgatory, I did everything I could to get you guys out. It took me a couple of years of solid research, but I finally found a spell that could pull you guys out without dragging anything else out like the leviathans along with you. The only problem was … I had to wait to perform the spell at a specific date and time … today at 2:37 p.m. exactly – the moment when Haley's comet would be at its closest perigee to Earth."

"Haley's comet? That only comes around what - ?" Dean questioned.

"Once every 76 years." Sam finished for Dean, "the last time it passed by Earth was in 1986, so I had to wait and just stay alive until then so I could still be around to perform the spell. I came up here - tried to keep the bad guys at bay – only hunted when I absolutely needed to until I finally had carved enough wards into the surrounding forest to pretty much keep everything out. And finally … after all of these years of waiting – today finally came. The spell kinda blew up my cabin and set fire to the forest, but it's all okay – you're here. That's all that matters."

Sam grunted and leaned forward, rubbing his chest as though it pained him.

Dean gripped his brother's thin shoulders tighter, "Sam?"

Sam shook his head, "It's okay, Dean."

Even from his perspective as an outsider, Andy could clearly see from Sam's greying skin that he was fading quick and that was definitely _not_ okay with his brother. Dean turned to Cas, "Can't you do anything?"

"I'm sorry, Dean. I wish I could."

Sam looked back up, his eyes bright with pain as breathing became more and more of a chore for him. His sight landed on the man in the trench coat and he tried valiantly to smile, "Actually, Cas. You_ can _do something for me … g – get Dean outta here - send him back – send him back to 2012."

Now, Andy had heard and seen some pretty unbelievable things already that day – men popping in out of nowhere wearing clothes his father wore, talk of purgatory, a man instantly healed of his wounds – it was all enough to leave his head spinning for the rest of his life, but now they were talking about _time-travel? _

_Who the Hell are these people?_

Cas shook his head, "That isn't possible. Purgatory has drained me too much, Dean would likely not survive the journey."

Sam nodded painfully and extracted himself from Dean's grasp then reached into the pocket of his pants which was remarkably untouched by the fire. His hand shook as he pulled out a small vial that was no bigger than his thumbnail and handed it off to Cas. Something glowed inside the bottle that was almost too beautiful for Andy to look at – it was almost like staring at the sun and he had to tear his eyes away before they burned.

Cas took the tiny bottle with something akin to awe on his face, "Sam … this is – how did you -?"

For the first time since meeting the man, Andy saw Cas' serenity crack as he turned the vial over in his hand.

"Let's just say that I've had a very, very long time to plan for contingencies," was all Sam was willing to offer in explanation, "It's only a drop of grace, but it should be enough go-juice for you to send you both back, right?"

"Yes," Cas agreed, distracted by the light emanating from the vial, "It is more than enough."

"Good." Sam nodded in satisfaction and relief, he then reached into the same pocket again and pulled out a folded slip of paper which he handed to Dean, "This is for you and me for when you get back." He said just before he doubled over, holding his left arm tight against his chest. Dean swooped in again and gathered Sam into his arms.

"Sammy? God –" Dean choked as he held his dying brother close.

Sam closed his eyes, his head resting against Dean's chest, "S'okay …" he wheezed, "none of this will ever happen – just g- go back and surprise me with y -your grand entrance."

His face quietly relaxing in calm acceptance and peace, Sam's shoulders slumped as he exhaled one last time and failed to breathe in again. Dean's face contorted, marring his otherwise handsome features into a rictus of grief as he held Sam to his chest for several minutes.

Dean finally sighed as tears freely slipped down the younger man's face. He gently lowered the still body of his brother back to lie in repose on the floor of the van and sat down beside him quietly, his eyes fixed distantly.

Andy took a step back, feeling very much like an intruder. He hadn't known the man other than by that one encounter with him all those years ago, but he couldn't help but feel his loss keenly inside of him. He had saved his life – given him a chance to live, to find a wife, to make a family – he didn't know how he could have ever repaid that debt and he felt real regret now for never trying to.

Cas' voice burst into Andy's thoughts as he felt the other man nudge him away, "You may want to step back and avert your eyes," he instructed.

Andy stepped back to stand beside Dean, who remained seated in the van with his eyes closed.

A moment later, Cas unscrewed the top of the vial in his hands and even with his eyes closed and turned away, the light that followed was nearly blinding. Andy had to cover his eyes with the inside of his elbow to keep from crying a second later, the light disappeared almost as quickly as it had come.

Daring to take his elbow away from his face, Andy carefully and slowly opened his eyes. Cas was standing exactly where he had been, looking very much the same except that an energetic grin had taken over his face, "Wow – that was – very satisfying."

Dean remained sitting by his brother seemingly indifferent to the miraculous light display of moments ago as if it was an everyday occurrence, but then again – maybe for these guys it was, Andy assumed.

Cas approached and touched Dean on the shoulder, "Are you ready to go?"

"Just a sec." Dean replied in almost a whisper, staring at the old man Sam had become, "He – he waited all this time –"

"You would have done the same, Dean." Cas stated with certainty.

"Yeah – I would have, but that still doesn't make the fact that he was alone all of this time any better."

"Perhaps not – but Sam was right. None of this will happen and when we return, he will have you by his side again."

Dean looked down at the piece of paper Sam had given him and started to unfold it. Andy couldn't help but look over his shoulder and read some of what was written there in scrawled handwriting.

The note was simple and on it was written:

To Do:

Andy Norton, 16 – wendigo - April 28, 2021

Annette Jenkins, 58 – annoying spirit – November 18, 2038

Olivia Spencer, 21 –werewolf – July 10, 2040

Dean snorted, a grin growing on his face before he folded the note back up and slipped it into his jacket pocket, "Leave it to Sam to give me a list of chores to do as his final act." He remarked sadly.

With a glance back at Sam, Dean pushed himself up and moved to stand next to Cas, determination replacing his grief, "Let's go home – we keep Sam waiting any longer he'll never stop bitching."

Cas readily agreed.

Andy stood back just as Dean was once again was reminded of his presence. He and stuck out his hand for Andy to shake saying, "Hey, Man … thanks for everything. And I'm sorry that things got a little weird for you, but you handled it better than most people would have."

Though he was still a little numb, stunned, and absolutely lost in a world of confusion by the events of the day, he managed to reach out and engage the other man in the surreal handshake, "Really?" Andy questioned, he didn't think he was handling it that well at all.

"Yeah – you did good. What was your name again?"

Andy realized then that he hadn't actually told the man his name, "Oh … Andy … Andy Norton."

"Andy Norton?" Dean raised an eyebrow and patted the pocket where he had stashed Sam's note, "This Andy Norton?"

Andy nodded.

"Huh … small world. I'd tell you to stay out of the woods in 2021, but I guess that would be moot point seeing as how you'll never know that any of this happened once we've gone back to 2012 … so ... I suppose we'll be seeing you again in a few years to save your ass."

Andy could only stand and watch with his mouth agape as Dean nodded to his trench-coated friend and gave one last haunted look towards the body lying in the van. Cas placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and closed his eyes in deep concentration and Andy felt a shaking of the earth beneath his feet as energy built up around the two men.

A blinding flash of power and light arced across his vision as Dean and Cas disappeared, taking Andy's present world and their future with them into the ether of space and time.

**More in the next chapter ...**


	2. Return to Sender

**_A/N: I couldn't resist writing a little more to this story and I guess I wasn't as done with it as I thought. Big thanks to ephemerall for her beta work on this - she's awesome! :)_  
**

**Part II:  
**

**Return to Sender**

Dean's vision was engulfed in light and he felt his heart drop into his stomach like he was experiencing the pull of g-forces on his internal organs during a roller-coaster ride at Disney World. Disorientation followed and coursed through his gut with a nauseating twist.

All of this lasted but a heartbeat, but it was enough to make him double-over and begin retching as soon as the light faded from his eyes and he was on solid ground once again. The world continued to pitch and roll like it was trying to spin him off of some cosmic merry-go-round and even as he fell to his knees and grasped at the Earth for purchase, he couldn't get his twirling mind to catch up to his now motionless body.

A hand touched his shoulder, "We're here."

"Urghhhh …" Dean muttered, panting and spitting bile onto the ground. Wherever 'here' was, he was still having a difficult time seeing it through his spinning sight and unbalanced equilibrium, "That was not … fun"

"The disorientation should pass soon."

"How soon?" He asked, managing to sit back on his heels without losing any more of his stomach contents.

Dean looked over at his traveling companion. Cas too looked pretty peaked – for an angel anyway and he had a slim trickle of blood leaking from his right nostril which he didn't bother to wipe away.

"You okay, Cas?"

"I am …" Cas swallowed, sitting down heavily beside Dean, pale as a ghost, "a little out of sorts … even with the extra grace Sam provided, the journey was not easy and I am … quite drained."

"Yeah … ya think?" Dean agreed readily. The nausea was beginning to abate, but he dared not make any sudden movements or he might start barfing again, "Where are we? Better yet – _when_ are we?"

"I believe we are close. I am still … disoriented, so the exact date escapes me."

"What about Sam? Are we near him?"

"Take a look for yourself." Cas insisted, turning around. Dean turned his head, following Cas' line of sight.

Behind his back was a low-rent, run-down motel. It was the kind of hovel Sam and Dean had spent the majority of their lives sleeping in and most importantly of all, in a parking space in front of the last and probably only occupied room, sat the Impala, its shiny, black exterior gleaming in the sun.

Dean's nausea was quickly forgotten as he rose to his feet before reaching out his hand to help Cas stand as well. The angel swayed a little on his feet and Dean had to keep a hand on his elbow to keep him from falling forward, but he was determined to get to that motel room as fast as possible, "C'mon … let's go."

Cas stumbled along with Dean practically dragging him towards to door. It felt like it was a million miles away even though it couldn't have been more than a couple hundred feet. Dean wanted to make a dash for it, but Castiel's pace continued to slow the more Dean impatiently urged him along.

They were only half-way across the parking lot when Cas' knees buckled completely. He pitched forward and Dean had to move fast to catch the falling angel with both hands before his face mashed into the asphalt.

"I'm sorry, Dean … I'm more exhausted than I thought." And just like that, Cas passed out in Dean's arms.

"Crap! Couldn't have waited until we made it inside?" Dean grumbled as he reached down hauled Cas up by the lapels of his trench coat. He maneuvered himself to Cas's front and bent his knees so he could tip him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

_Angel on my shoulder …_ he mused. _Damned_ heavy _angel …_

Dean continued on towards the last room at the end of the motel. The headache from their journey pounded more violently with each step thanks to the extra weight he now carried and he was breathing heavily and sweating by the time he made it to the door and knocked.

OOOOOOO

Sam threw the papers, the books, and his laptop off of the table with one sweep of his long arm. Frustration wouldn't even be close to describing how hopeless his situation was becoming.

_Goddamn Crowley! _

That fucking demon … he was going to rip him to shreds.

_"Sam … my favorite moose. Calling again, eh?" Crowley stood smugly within the devil's trap Sam had set for him, looking more annoyed than scared to be trapped._

_"Tell me where Dean is."_

_"Haven't figured it out yet? You really should have read the disclaimer on that little weapon you two fashioned for Dick, but as they say 'caveat emptor'._

_"Shut up."_

_"Oh … you're gonna order me around now?" Crowley scowled, adding in an aside, "And everyone thinks he's the smart one." Crowley eyed Sam with angry contempt, "Dean is far, far away … you won't be able to get him out."_

_"Where is he?"_

_"Trust me … you don't want to know."_

_"Just fucking tell me!"_

_Crowley took a step forward, his eyes darkening with malicious amusement, "Fine … you want to know so badly, I'll tell you. He's in purgatory. Now are you satisfied?"_

_"Purgatory?"_

_"What? Am I not speaking English? Yes … it's the place where all of the creatures and things you hunt go when they're 'ganked' by stupid-assed morons like you. Think about it, Bullwinkle – how many vampires, werewolves, wendigos, and supernatural beasts have you and Dean dispatched over the years? You think they're going to be welcoming a hunter and an angel into their realm with open arms?" Crowley grinned wickedly, "He's being torn to pieces as we speak."_

_Sam found it hard to breathe. While he could trust Crowley about as far as he could throw him, he knew the demon was speaking the truth – especially when that truth was so horrifying._

_"You gotta get him out."_

_"I can't."_

_"I'll make a deal … whatever you want." Sam pleaded._

_"You're not getting it, are you? What part of '_can't' _don't you understand? Even if I wanted to, which I certainly don't, purgatory is locked up tighter than a steel drum and opening it up again means letting things like those fucking leviathans out again and there is no way I'm going to risk that."_

_Sam straightened his back defiantly, "You_ will_ help me, or you can rot in this fucking trap forever."_

_Crowley laughed, "Sure … you can let me stand around in here forever if you want, but what good is that going to do you, Sam? You may have blocked all of the windows and doors with salt and iron, but just outside that door, there's an army of demons licking their chops for a chance to rip you to shreds. You'll never survive long enough to get your brother out. So this is your choice, you giant piece of shite - you can either let me go or sit in here and rot right along with me."_

_Sam wanted to shove all of the holy water and salt he had with him down Crowley's throat, but he had had no illusions in believing that the king of Hell would actually help him when he set up this trap– he got what he needed from the demon already – he got Dean's location and that was more than he had before._

_Sam bent down slowly, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Crowly as he scraped away at the devil's trap. _

_"Finally … a wise decision on your part." Crowly stated venomously as he stepped out of the trap. Sam was still straightening up when the demon raised his hand and used his full power to lift Sam off of his feet and send him flying backward into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. Sam felt the air in his lungs explode out from his chest as his senses gave in to all-encompassing pain._

_Crowley kept Sam suspended against the wall as he advanced coolly, "I should kill you right here and now and finally be done with you Winchesters, but I won't – I may have need of you in future and besides … " the demon grinned, "watching you flounder around alone and helpless is kind of amusing. But, _don't_ try to trap me again or it will be the last thing you ever do."_

_With that, Crowley disappeared and Sam slid down the wall, alone again and just as lost._

_Sam really wasn't surprised to find that Crowley's henchmen were still waiting for him as soon as he left the abandoned house, but his movements had been considerably slowed thanks to the king of Hell's attempt to turn him into a human cannon-ball. Though he had the demon-killing knife on him, they had gotten the jump on him and the hits had come fast and furious in a whirl of fists, knees, feet and weapons._

_By the end, there was blood everywhere – how much was his and how much was the demons, he didn't know, but he was the only one that walked away alive and that's all that really mattered to him at the time because if Sam died, then Dean would be trapped in purgatory forever – he couldn't let that happen._

_He was covered in blood, bruises and various bleeding wounds, including a deep slash to his arm from elbow to wrist that left a bloody trail as he walked away, but none of them registered and he couldn't bring himself to really care as he somehow stumbled away from the dead bodies and drove himself back to the motel, operating purely on adrenaline and autopilot. _

He couldn't really remember parking or entering the room, but seeing the stack of papers, books and research that was still spread out on the little café table in the room, he suddenly saw red and couldn't restrain his rage any longer. He'd already searched through so much – poured over any speck of information he could get his hands on, but now … what good would any of it do? He knew where Dean was now, but he was back at the beginning again and he didn't even know where to start.

Wiping the papers and research in one felled swoop in an explosion of anger to the floor and upending the table on top of it all for good measure felt cathartic for all of two seconds, but he wanted to do more. He wanted to rip the curtains from the windows, smash the lamps, toss the beds – get it all out, but he was suddenly so damned tired and exhausted as pain radiated across his nerves, drove spikes into his brain so deep to where there was no escape and the action of his temper tantrum had left his arm numb and hanging useless as it bled all over the floor.

He had no strength left in him to rage anymore – all that was left was an aching hopelessness and a growing hole in his chest that hurt worse than any physical injury ever could.

_Dean's gone … gone … gone …_

He sat down heavily on the bed instead, spent and useless. His head sagged between his knees as pain turned into a despair so deep he didn't think he could ever crawl out of it.

But down deep … Sam knew he couldn't give in – not completely – not while Dean was still out there. He'd find a way to bring his brother back – he would – no matter what – even if it took months, years, decades … there had to be a way – there just had to be.

But for now, as the room spun lazily around him and he watched disconnectedly as a small trail of blood slipped down his fingers to the floor, all he could think about was sleep and how good it felt to close his eyes, even if for just a little while.

He just needed some rest – a little nap so that he could think clearly again and start over, pick up the trail of research and get Dean home to him.

His back fell against the mattress and darkness soon washed over him.

OOOOOO

Dean waited with his breath caught in his throat.

What if Cas had been wrong? What if the door opened and Sam was still that old man who had spent his life utterly alone – Dean didn't think he could ever put the picture of Sam – old and brittle and lying dead out of his mind.

But no … that wasn't possible … couldn't be – he didn't even think they were in Colorado anymore, so they had to be close to the time when they got sucked into purgatory – they just had to be, Dean wouldn't accept anything else.

A minute ticked by slowly and Cas was getting heavier each second. Dean knocked on the door again and called Sam's name, but still there was no answer and no noise coming from inside the room.

Maybe Sam wasn't in? Maybe he'd gone for food or a walk? Whatever the case was, he wasn't gonna stand there all day, so he reached for the doorknob and tried turning it. Of course, it was locked, he really wasn't at all surprised by that –he just wished he had his lock picks with him.

Dean turned around and his eyes landed on the car – the car that more than likely still had an extra set of lock picks in the glove compartment. He would have slapped himself then for being so stupid not to think of looking in there right off the bat, but his hands were kinda full of 180 pounds of unconscious angel.

Grunting, Dean bent his knees and carefully lowered Cas down, letting him slip off his shoulder until his back was settled against the wall next to the door. With the extra weight off his shoulder, he quickly hurried to the car and reached into his pocket, thankful that he still had his keys on him. He unlocked the passenger side door and flipped open the glove compartment, finding his set of lock picks just where he had left them. He nearly whooped in victory as he grabbed the tools and trotted back to the door and started to work on the lock – Sammy could forgive him later for breaking into his room – he just needed to get in there first.

OOOOOOOO

Sam's feeble attempt to open his eyelids nearly met with failure. God … he was so tired, but just outside his door, he thought he had heard knocking and for a brief moment, his fuzzy, cotton –filled brain actually thought he heard his name being called. But, more than likely it was just housekeeping coming by and God knows he didn't want some maid to come waltzing in to clean the room and see all of the demonic crap he had tacked to the walls - or the blood - or the guns.

As much as he wished he could just lie there and wallow in his pain, he had to get up – had to tell her to go away.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and then nearly cried out at the lancing, poker of agony racing up and down his arm.

Shit … he had forgotten to take care of it and now the open gash on his arm was a swollen, pulsating mass of sticky, white-hot misery and he wasn't looking forward to stitching the damn thing up with only one hand.

_Dean's gone – he can't stitch it for you. He's gone – never coming back …_

Sam choked on the thoughts still racing in his head after Crowley's admission and tried to push them away – tried to deny the stampeding fear that he may never see his brother again from completely taking over. He would get him back – no matter what.

Sam lifted the injured limb carefully as he sat up the rest of the way and cradled it to his chest as he closed his eyes and waited for the black spots invading his vision to fade away before getting to his feet.

With a freezing jolt, he realized that the noise coming from the other side of his door wasn't that of any maid … what he was hearing was the distinct sound of picks being maneuvered into a lock.

Sam didn't have time to wait for his dizziness to pass. His gun was over by the upturned table and he was immediately on his feet in order to make a dash for it. His body however, was not as cooperative and the sudden change in position made his vision black out completely and he was falling to the floor faster than he could catch himself.

OOOOOO

Dean slid the picks into the lock and felt around for the tumblers inside. It was an easy lock, but halfway through the process, he heard the very loud and unmistakable thud of a human body hitting the floor just on the other side of the door.

"Shit … Sam?" Dean called through the door, hoping for an answer to quell his anxiety, but when none came, he worked his frustratingly uncoordinated fingers to open the lock faster as a feeling of cold dread washed over him.

Too many possibilities were running through his head to keep up with and at last, Dean had the door unlocked and nearly knocked it off of its hinges as he burst inside.

The first thing he saw was Sam lying face down on the floor amidst a pile of papers and next to an overturned table. It looked like a freak tornado had blown through the room and Sam had been caught up in it.

Dean ran in and dropped to his knees next to his brother. Even though Sam's hair was just as dark and shaggy and he was beardless save for a few days of stubbly growth and those stupid-looking sideburns he kept threatening Sam that he'd shave off in his sleep, Dean had flashes of the old, white haired Gandalf-like Sam lying dead in the back of that weird-assed van in the future, so it was with a shaky hand that he reached for Sam's neck and felt for a pulse and forgot how to breathe.

As soon as Dean touched Sam, he stirred and moaned causing Dean to blow out a relieved gust of air from his lungs, "Sam? … hey … c'mon, time to wake up, dude."

Sam mumbled something unintelligible, but kept his eyes stubbornly shut. Dean grasped Sam's shoulders and turned his brother over carefully and had his breath taken away again by the amount of blood saturated into Sam's clothing, "Shit … what did you do, Sammy?"

Sam muttered again while rolling his head from side to side, "Get you … out … prom'se."

"You did get us out, Sam." Dean tried to assure him while checking to see where all of that blood was coming from. Sam's face looked much like he had gone ten rounds with the Incredible Hulk – one eye swollen shut with dried blood crusted under his nose and a cut just above his eyebrow while the rest of his skin that wasn't bruised was a chalky shade of alabaster. Dean's eyes were drawn to the ripped sleeve of Sam's shirt that was soaked and still wet with fresh blood. He tore the rip the rest of the way up the sleeve to expose the skin underneath then swore at the depth and length of the gash - he was gonna be spending all night stitching this thing up.

A shadow filled the entrance to the room and Dean looked up to see Cas standing in the doorway, bracing himself against the jam with a white-knuckled grip.

"What can I do to help?" Cas asked.

Dean took in the wavering angel's features, "Can you fix him?" He asked, knowing full well that if Cas was still too weak to barely stand, then his chanced of laying any of his angelic mojo on his brother were pretty slim.

Cas shook his head.

"Then just sit down on the bed before you get the vapors again and pass out."

"I can do that." Cas mumbled as he stumbled into the room then collapsed face down onto the nearest bed.

"Perfect …" Dean grumbled, letting his sarcasm get the better of him when right about then Cas' healing powers could have really come in handy.

Dean couldn't just let Sam lay on the floor forever, so he cupped his brother's face with both hands and tried to rouse him again by lightly giving his cheeks a couple of taps. Sam's eyelids fluttered then opened half-mast.

Dilated, hazel eyes lazily glanced about without really focusing on anything, "Hey … Sammy? You with me?"

Sam's eyes stared back at Dean with the glassiness of incomprehension, most likely concussion induced. "S'dream." He stated rather than questioned.

"S'not a dream," Dean tried to sound reassuring without letting worry seep into his voice, "C'mon … let's get you off the floor, huh?"

Sam let his eyes slip closed again as Dean reached under broad shoulders and hauled him up. Sam offered little help, but managed to stay on his feet until Dean could wrangle him onto the only unoccupied bed left in the room.

"M'sorry …" Sam mumbled, his words slurring as he began to drift off again. "Don' know how … gotta find a way." Dean dug around in Sam's duffel for the first aid kit, barely making out what Sam was trying to say, but there was no mistaking the sorrow and desperation in his voice and goddamnit if that didn't tear a hole right into Dean's gut to hear his little brother sound so broken and lost.

"It's okay, Sam … I'm here." Sitting down on the bed next to his brother once he had the kit in hand, Dean resisted then gave into the urge to push Sam's bangs away from his eyes. He didn't know how long he'd been gone yet, but it had been long enough to be too long.

Maybe this wasn't the reunion Dean had been hoping for, especially since Sam was mostly out of it, but as he cleaned, stitched and dressed Sam's wounds, including the fifteen sutures he had to sew into his brother's arm, he was never more thankful to be back where he belonged and when he fell asleep soon after that, it was by his brother's side.

OOOOOO

It was warm where he was. It was warmer than any blanket – warm like when he and Dean were kids and had to share a bed – a kind of warmth you could only get from being near another person's body heat. Dean always accused him of being a little furnace that made the bed too hot, but it was always Dean that stole the blankets and forced Sam to get close in order to stay warm, so it was really all his fault he was hot.

But then again, if Sam was honest, it was more than warmth he sought out on those cold nights when it was dark and he was scared – it was safety – the kind of security that only his big brother could provide.

Sam was enjoying this – this feeling of being totally secure and unafraid and he didn't ever want to leave.

Dreams came and went, unfurling themselves like pages in a book one after the other. In one blissful dream, Dean was there, telling him that everything was going to be okay … that he was pissed at Sam for getting himself hurt while he was away, but he was going to take care of his sorry ass now that he was back. It was a good dream – even though dream-Dean said it wasn't a dream, he knew it was and he since he didn't get pleasant dreams like that very often, he didn't want to let it go or end.

But then the warmth left him and he was cold again – the dream was over.

He was alone.

Sam shivered, wanting to find that warmth and safety again, but it was gone and it wasn't coming back.

_Dean's not coming back_

He rolled onto his side and was met with pain racing up and down his arm like a million volts of electricity and the next thing he knew, he was staring at the nicotine-stained and water damaged wall of his motel room.

He sighed wearily as his pleasant dreams bled away into reality and bits and pieces of the previous night trickled back into his memory; Crowley's smug face telling him about purgatory, demons, fighting, throwing things, pain, helplessness …

_Alone …_

He wasn't sure how he ended up in bed and looking at his arm to see that it had been stitched and bandaged, he was even more confused. He couldn't remember suturing himself and given the way his brain was pounding mercilessly against the inside of his skull, he wondered how he had even pulled it off.

Even with his head failing to fire on all cylinders, Sam suddenly he got the feeling that he wasn't entirely alone and it was the sound of a water tap being turned on in the bathroom that truly got his heart racing.

He was out of bed and reaching for his gun almost instantly – someone was in his room.

Taking a shower?

Singing an off-key version of ABBA's _Fernando?_

Maybe he was still dreaming?

He felt dizzy with confusion, but that could have also been from the concussion he was certain he had.

Sam quietly crept up to the bathroom door, undoing the safety of his loaded .45, acutely aware of how much just holding the heavy gun was killing his arm. He reached for the doorknob with his free hand and found it unlocked then turned it slowly, letting the door open silently.

Plumes of steam floated out of the small bathroom and hit Sam full in the face as he approached the curtain and whoever happened to be behind it. The singing had finally stopped at least and while Sam's ears were grateful, his heart was still beating a mile a minute as he raised his gun and leveled it.

He reached out and grabbed the shower curtain in one swift, burst of action, sliding it open to reveal …

One of the whitest asses he thought he had ever seen.

Sam's heart might have stopped beating at that moment, not just because of the naked body before him, but because of the face that body belonged to.

"Sam!" a beatific smile greeted him, along with a raspy monotone, "Good-morning. I apologize if I woke you, but Dean said that I should take a shower. He seems to think that I smell like a monkey's butt, even though I was not aware that I was producing such an odor or how he would know how that creature's anus might smell. However, I must admit that the experience of standing under this waterfall is quite invigorating."

Sam just stared, unaware of his mouth hanging open and he was certain that he had to be still dreaming because all of that was just too surreal and impossible to be actually happening.

Things kinda all went hazy after that.

He must have blacked out because the next thing he knew, he was lying on his bed once again and waking up to the unmistakable aroma of coffee wafting through the air - coffee he is sure he didn't make or buy, but which smelled heavenly none the less.

Sam made to sit up, but his arm reminded him that movement like that was a bad idea and he groaned at the stinging pain.

"Dean … I believe Sam is waking up." All at once, Sam's sight was filled with two concerned faces and once again his heart failed to make its next beat.

"Sammy?"

That was it … that was the one question Sam had been hoping to hear once again for weeks now and maybe it was still too good to be true.

"Dean?" _Still a dream?_

Dean's face broke out into a grin. _I'm here, I'm real._

"Oh my God …" Sam reached out with his good hand as he sat up, ignoring the pain in his injured arm as he grabbed Dean's sleeve and felt the solid muscle of his big brother's arm underneath. He was real and for the moment, Sam really didn't care how any of that was possible, about how Dean and Cas got out, or how they ended up in his motel room – he just couldn't bring himself to ask and he had more important things to do such as wrapping his arms around his brother and holding him tight, breathing in his smell, and thanking whatever higher power had sent Dean back to him.

Dean squeezed him back with equal vigor and Sam savored the embrace and the feel of his brother's heart beating into his chest, never wanting to ever let go. Eventually Dean pulled back, keeping his hands on Sam's shoulders as he held him out at arm's length.

Sam's brain was still trying to catch up as Dean's smile grew, "Miss me?"

He shook his head in wonder as he scrutinized every detail of Dean's face, still lost in amazement that he was even present and reminding far too much of the time his brother walked in on him after coming back from Hell – but this time was different – the haunted look on Dean's face wasn't there – he just seemed – relieved.

"You okay? I mean … Crowley said you were … in _purgatory_?"

"Yeah," Dean confirmed with a nod, "Can't say that was pleasant vacation, but we're back now … that's all that matters." Sam knew there was more to the story and that there were things that went on in purgatory that Dean wasn't ready to share yet, but he was just so damned relieved to see him that he could wait a little while longer before asking him about it.

But there was one question that Sam had to ask, "But how? … How did you escape? "

"You got us out." Dean answered simply.

Sam was pretty much floored by that statement, "What? … No … I – I mean I couldn't have, I've spent the last month just trying to find out where you went and I haven't even had a chance to find a way –"

"Whoa … it's okay," Dean assured him, raising his hands, "I know it's confusing, trust me … I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it all and it's a really, really long story …"

Dean started talking and Sam listened with one part awe and one part confusion. Most of it made sense actually, even the whole going back in time thing, but what really got to him – the one part he had trouble believing, was Dean encountering an older version of Sam – that part he couldn't comprehend. He had barely made it a few weeks without Dean around to ground him and keep him sane, how the hell could this other Sam have made it _50 years_? He didn't think he could ever do that.

"And so … here we are, thanks to you and your obsessive planning." Dean said once he finished his tale, "You can quit trying to catch flies with your mouth now, Sam. It's all true."

Sam did as he was told and snapped his gaping mouth shut while looking over at Cas, who nodded in agreement with Dean's version of events.

"So …" Sam started, shaking his head, "What do we do now?"

Dean smirked, "The same thing we do every day, Pinky … try to take over the world." He added with a mischievous wink.

Sam rolled his eyes, but felt his insides warm. Yeah … Dean was back … he really, truly was.

**The End**


End file.
